Wide Open
by HighlyOveractiveImagination
Summary: John and Sherlock get into a fight and when John goes out to get some air he gets possessed by a demon. A sort-of Supernatural crossover, but if you haven't seen Supernatural it should still make sense (if my writing isn't too bad). There is definite slash, some gore, and some demonic John goodness. Reviews make the world go round!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Hello everybody! I wrote you all a little demon!John fic. It wasn't easy either; I was afflicted with severe writers block at first (that's why I haven't written anything in forever for those of you who care). It started out with no demons at all; Sherlock just lost his temper at John. I tried different endings for that: John goes for a walk and meets Moriarty, John goes for a walk and gets kidnapped by Moriarty, John goes for a walk and meets Mycroft, John goes for a walk then forgives Sherlock and comes back, John doesn't go for a walk at all, I even considered making this a five times fic. Eventually I deleted it out of frustration, but, of course, that very same day I came up with this idea and I had to retrieve it. So you better appreciate this one, I worked on it very hard and it took a considerable amount of willpower to not punch a hole in my computer. Thanks for reading it though, I hope you enjoy it! (Giveth me reviews…)**

Sherlock was in a foul mood, he had no cases, no cigarettes, and no gun with which to shoot holes in the walls. He was bored out of his mind and John wasn't helping, he was just sitting there, reading the newspaper, being boring. Sherlock glanced over at him from his laying position on the couch and grimaced.

"John, I'm bored." Sherlock said petulantly.

"I'm aware, what do you propose I do about it?" John said without looking up from the paper.

"You could give me my cigarettes." Sherlock suggested and John chuckled. He shook his head and Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"Why not?" He asked and John gave him a look that clearly stated that Sherlock knew why. Sherlock did know why, but the reasoning was idiotic. Sherlock flung himself from the couch and began to rifle through the drawers in search of the cigarettes.

"Come on Sherlock, you have your nicotine patches. You don't need a cigarette." John said, finally setting down the newspaper. Sherlock continued to search the flat not even looking at John. He began to become increasingly irritated as his search proved less and less hopeful.

"Tell me where they are." Sherlock demanded and John replied with a firm 'no'. Sherlock glared at him, anger rising.

"Tell me where they are or I'll resort to something stronger." Sherlock looked John in the eyes and was pleased to see the horror in them at those words.

"Don't even think about it." John growled as he got to his feet.

"Too late." Sherlock said with another glare. Sherlock moved towards the kitchen but John moved himself to block the path.

"Sherlock as your friend-" John began.

"You are not my friend; I do not bother myself with such frivolous social connections." Sherlock said trying to push past John who continued to bar his way.

"As your doctor I am begging you not to do this." John had dropped the commanding tone of voice he had used before and now sounded more kind. He was trying to reason with Sherlock, but Sherlock was having none of it.

"Please John, don't flatter yourself. You are neither my friend nor my doctor." Sherlock tried to slip around John but he stubbornly blocked his path. Sherlock was losing patience quickly, John was being difficult and that caused Sherlock's anger to rise to dangerous levels.

"Sherlock-" John didn't get a chance to finish because was cut off by Sherlock yet again.

"Stop trying to control me John! You are nothing but a cripple with pathetic psychological issues and the mental aptitude of a four year old. There is no place for someone as miserably inadequate as you in my life!" Sherlock dug his fingernail into John's sensitive scar tissue and shoved him violently to the ground. John hit the floor with a painful thud and looked up at Sherlock. The moment Sherlock looked into John's eyes the anger dissipated, and Sherlock realized what he had just done. Sherlock felt a cold, hard weight in the pit of his stomach and moved towards John; to try and apologize, to try and reverse the damage he had inevitably done. Much to Sherlock's horror, John cringed from Sherlock's touch and jumped to his feet. He didn't even look Sherlock in the eye; he just brought his hand up and began to gently massage the damaged shoulder Sherlock had just attacked.

"You know what Sherlock? Fine, if it really means that much to you, go for it. Actually, I'll do you one better. Don't expect me to get in your way _ever _again." John said bitterly and marched past Sherlock. Sherlock felt as though he had just been slapped in the face and opened his mouth to speak but John didn't give him the chance.

"No, Sherlock, just… no." John looked Sherlock in the eye for a brief moment, and to Sherlock that was just as bad as a swift kick to the stomach. It hurt just as bad, and when John broke the eye contact Sherlock wanted nothing more than to apologize, and Sherlock never apologized. John grabbed his coat and dashed out of the flat as fast as he could. Sherlock stood there, completely paralyzed, what had he done? Sherlock's stomach was tying itself in knots and Sherlock's mind was in an even sorrier state. How could Sherlock apologize for what he had just said and done? Would he even get the chance? What if John didn't come back? Sherlock didn't have answers for these questions and the internal battle to understand the unprecedented influx of emotions into Sherlock's mind wasn't helping. He didn't know what to do, but he needed to do something, because although he would never admit it, he needed John.

* * *

John wasn't going to go back, no sir. John was not going to go back to 221B Baker Street no matter what anyone said. Sherlock had gone too far this time, John had given him more than enough second chances in the past and this was the last straw. John was not going to go back, and he was most certainly not going to cry. Because John didn't cry, at least not anymore, not since he had moved in with Sherlock and the nightmares had disappeared. John was just going to sit down on an uncomfortably cold park bench, put his head in his hands, close his eyes, and massage his temples until all the jumbled thoughts inside his head were reorganized. He never got the chance, because after a few moments John heard something. His head snapped up and he looked around in confusion, he could've sworn he'd heard voices. Yet he couldn't see anyone around, in fact he couldn't see anyone at all. It was early afternoon, so where was everybody? The park John was sitting wasn't usually crowded but there were always people there, especially at this time of day. Yet there wasn't a soul in the park, it was deathly quiet except for the sound of John's breathing. John stood quickly and began to look around, it was far too quiet. John's heart was starting to beat a little faster in his chest as the silence reminded him painfully of another time in Afghanistan when him and his group were ambushed. It had been quiet like this then too, like the calm before the storm. John was about to walk out of the park at a very brisk pace when he heard the sound again. It was like a harsh wind contained in a small space mixed with small whispering voices and it was coming from right above John's head. John looked up and his heart stopped in his chest, looming directly above him was a cloud of dark, menacing smoke, and it was headed straight for him.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing, had been pacing since John had left nearly two hours ago. Sherlock was in the process of putting on his coat and taking it off again for the eleventh time when he heard the door open. He froze in place, simultaneously terrified and hopeful that it might be John. Sherlock held his breath as the door swung open and just as Sherlock was preparing himself for disappointment, John walked through. Everything that Sherlock had been keeping bottled up inside spilled out into one, jumbled apology.

"JohnI'msosorrypleasetryandunderstandIwasn'tmyself Idon'tknowwhatIwasthinkingitwasstupidofmetodothaty ouaremyfriendmyonlyfriendandIamanidiotforsayingoth erwiseIknowyouwerejusttryingtohelpmeandyoudidn'tde serveanyofthosethingsIsaidpleaseforgivemeI-"

"Relax Sherlock, it's quite alright. You're completely forgiven; let's just forget it ever happened." John said and Sherlock froze once again. He stared at John for a moment with his mouth agape and then nodded slowly in utter confusion.

"Brilliant, I'm going to make some tea, want some?" Sherlock nodded again in the same fashion and John flashed him a grin before walking off to the kitchen. Sherlock was still trying to process what John had just said, it didn't make any sense. John had remained angry at Sherlock for longer than this with much less incentive, but for some reason he had just forgiven Sherlock for something any sound-minded person would've considered unforgivable. That wasn't the only thing either, John had smiled, but it wasn't John's smile. Sherlock had seen and catalogued every last one of John's smiles (for scientific purposes only, of course) and the smile John had just given Sherlock was not one of them. It didn't belong on John's face; it had looked strange and foreign as it graced his lips. It had sent unpleasant shivers down Sherlock's spine because although it wasn't a smile he had ever seen on John's face, he had seen it more times than he would care to count on the face of Jim Moriarty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Warning! There is some demony passion up ahead! (Don't worry, it's not too passionate) There is also a bit of gore in this chapter.  
You've been warned!**

A few days had passed since Sherlock and John's altercation. With every day that passed John seemed to become more and more comfortable while Sherlock became less and less. Not a moment passed when Sherlock wasn't looking over his shoulder to check on John and every time John smiled Sherlock's muscles tensed in fear. He kept on telling himself that it was ridiculous to be afraid of John, his flat mate, his friend. But every time Sherlock thought this there was a distant voice in his head that whispered "He isn't John." Sherlock chose to ignore the voice because it was illogical to think that John wasn't John.

Then Lestrade called.

Sherlock was grateful for the distraction from the unusual events at Baker Street and rushed down to the crime scene with John mere moments after he received the call.

"Eight victims, one survivor, who happens to be in a coma. We found them this morning strung up in some basement, we haven't touched them yet so you could get a proper look, but there isn't much left to look at." Lestrade said as Sherlock opened the door to the room. The scene he saw before him was enough to make even his stomach churn. There were eight victims as Lestrade had said; only the victims were dispersed through the room as though someone had thrown about their innards like confetti. Sherlock could see various devices of torture, whips, knives, dentist equipment, blunt weapons, kitchen utensils, and every last one of them was thoroughly soaked with blood. There was also an overpowering scent of sulphur. Sherlock was not one to have much of a reaction to anything, but what he saw before him was nothing short of horrific. As Sherlock stepped forward his foot came down with a wet plop, Sherlock looked down at the ground and even in the dimmed light he could see that the concrete floor was completely flooded with blood. Donovan walked up to Lestrade and shook her head.

"Any clues as to who did this?" Lestrade asked in a small voice.

"None, but I will tell you that whoever did this wasn't a man. It would've taken nothing short of a monster to do something like this." Donovan said with a sickened expression before walking out of the room. Sherlock swallowed hard and began to investigate the entirety of the room. When he finished his investigation he knew that:

• The murderer was male.

• Five foot six inches tall.

• Left-handed.

• Possessed extensive medical knowledge.

• Did not own his own vehicle.

• Lived in London with another man who had very uncleanly habits.

• Owned a gun, but did not leave it at the scene of the crime.

• Wore a pair of size eleven, leather top, and rubber bottom shoes with laces.

• Had short, dirty-blonde hair.

• Had served in the military at one point and had sustained a gunshot injury at some time.

• And occasionally walked with a slight limp on his right side.

Sherlock froze where he was squatting and slowly turned to look at John. John who was five foot six inches tall, left-handed, possessed extensive medical knowledge, did not own his own vehicle, lived in London with Sherlock, owned a gun, wore a pair of size eleven leather top rubber bottom shoes, had short dirty-blonde hair, had served in the military, been shot, and occasionally walked with a limp on his right side. Sherlock stared at John with wide eyes and much to Sherlock's horror; John gave the crime scene a look over, and smiled the same smile that turned Sherlock's blood to ice. Sherlock stood quickly and the smile vanished from John's face to be replaced by polite disinterest. The John Sherlock knew would've been disgusted and horrified by the crime scene. Yet somehow John appeared completely at ease, if Sherlock didn't know better he would've sworn that John wasn't John at all. Lestrade interrupted Sherlock's thoughts by walking over to him and asking

"Anything?" Sherlock looked into Lestrade's dark brown eyes, into the tired, worn eyes of a man who had seen and dealt with too much crap without nearly enough sleep in between. Sherlock looked into the detective inspector's eyes, and he lied.

"Nothing." Lestrade raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief but he didn't question the consulting detective; he just shrugged his shoulders and told Sherlock to text him if he got anything. Then Lestrade walked away with his shoulders hunched, and Sherlock had no doubt it was because of the severe weight that was laid upon them. Sherlock then turned to face John who smiled at him, Sherlock smiled back and turned away to hide his anxious expression from that bone-chilling smile, then hailed a cab back to Baker Street.

* * *

After a quick text clarifying the time of death of the victims Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his hands steepled beneath his chin pensively. John was making himself another cup of tea and although Sherlock appeared calm his mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. Finally Sherlock built up his courage and asked the question he had feared the answer to for hours.

"Where were you the last three nights?" The noises in the kitchen ceased and Sherlock waited for an answer.

"Why do you want to know?" John asked in response as he entered the room.

"I'm just curious because you weren't here." Sherlock said with a forced smile. John smiled back and Sherlock did his best not to shudder.

"Sounds to me like you're asking if I have an alibi." John said with a slight chuckle.

"Do you?" Sherlock asked and his eyes met John's in an intense stare.

"No." John stated simply.

"But if you want I could have one tonight." As John said this he placed both arms on both sides of Sherlock's chair and leaned in close, closer than what would be considered normal for two friends.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked and John laughed gently, his warm breath wafting across Sherlock's face. Suddenly John grabbed Sherlock by the collar and flung him against the wall, pinning him there. Sherlock's breaths became shorter and his heart sped up. Then Sherlock felt something he rarely felt, and certainly never in relation to John: fear. Sherlock was afraid of John. Then John did the last thing Sherlock would've expected, he kissed Sherlock. John's lips crashed into Sherlock's and his tongue forced its way into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock's mind went completely blank for a moment, but when it started again Sherlock didn't pull away or fight back, he pushed forward. His own lips began to move against John's and his fingers found their way into John's short hair. It was as though there was something inside him, an animal, and it was hungry, hungry for John. He pushed back against John and drove him into the sofa. Sherlock fell on top of John but it only took a few seconds for John to roll so Sherlock was underneath him. John continued to kiss Sherlock ferociously as his hands pushed up underneath Sherlock's neatly tucked in shirt and his nails dug into the smooth skin of Sherlock's back. Sherlock let out a soft moan and arched up into John in response. Part of Sherlock's mind was still trying to tell Sherlock that this was a bad idea, that he and John's relationship was platonic and nothing more. This part of his mind was warning him that John was the lead suspect in an octuple homicide and what's more he hadn't even been acting like John lately. This part of his mind shut up the moment John's mouth found Sherlock's neck, John began to suck and bite on a patch of Sherlock's skin and then it was all over. Tingling sensations ran from that point down to Sherlock's toes, the little electrical feelings of pleasure spread throughout Sherlock's body and his mind shut completely off. It was as though John was a bolt of lightning, and he had knocked out the power to Sherlock's mind palace. John's teeth sunk into Sherlock's flesh and he let out a louder moan that was almost a whimper. Sherlock could feel as blood trickled from the wound and dripped onto the couch cushions, and then the warm liquid was lapped up by John's tongue. Sherlock's hands grabbed fistfuls of John's shirt as he licked at Sherlock's wound and Sherlock's entire body felt hot with the pleasure and pain that were coursing through it. John tore open Sherlock's shirt and he raked his fingernails down Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock could barely stand all the new sensations he experiencing but somehow he didn't want it to stop. He wanted something he couldn't yet describe, something he had never wanted before in his life, yet never had he wanted anything more in his life. The closest he could come to describing it was to say he wanted John, in every way possible, and he wanted John to want him back. John seemed to understand this and he began to kiss his way down Sherlock's chest on which John's claw marks were already growing red and puffy. As Sherlock lost himself in John's possessive arms he didn't notice that when John brought himself up along Sherlock's body to capture his lips in a fierce kiss, his eyes were completely black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I probably didn't satisfy your need demony passion, so I'm sorry for that, try not to hate me too much. Hope you're liking the story so far, enjoy this chapter! (Reviews?)**

Sherlock awoke the next morning alone, and naked on the sofa. John was nowhere to be seen so he dragged himself up to his room. He tried to ignore the scent of rotten eggs but it was quite strong in the rooms. As Sherlock got dressed he took account of the many injuries he had sustained from the previous night, he was covered in scratches, bite marks, and bruises. Although he had felt more pleasure with John that night than he probably ever had, the pain had countered it quite a bit. Sherlock had never thought John capable of such roughness as John was such a tender person. He always treated Sherlock with kindness and patience yet the night before had been handled in anything but the gentle manner that Sherlock was used to. This only deepened Sherlock's worry about John, not only did John not have an alibi for the nights when the victims were being tortured, he was not acting like himself at all. Sherlock finished getting dressed and noted in the mirror that the most prominent of the bite-marks he had received was still visible on his neck. Sherlock ran down the stairs to get his phone so he could call John but when he picked it up it vibrated in his hand. Sherlock checked the message from Lestrade and it read

_Ninth victim just woke up out of coma in hospital, come immediately if you want to question her._

Sherlock frowned for a moment and was about to open up his contacts to call John when something occurred to him. He came to a decision quickly and slipped the phone back into his pocket never having dialed John's number.

* * *

At the hospital Sherlock found the victim in a pretty bad state, she was missing several of her fingers, toes, and teeth. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be able to get much information from the battered girl unless he did so delicately so he elected to act more like John might've were he there, or at least how the John Sherlock knew would've acted, not the new John that Sherlock had been dealing with over the past few days. Sherlock let himself into the hospital room and sat next to the young blonde woman that was covered in bloody white bandages. He tried to question her but even with him trying to be as soothing as possible she still was in too bad a state to give him anything useful.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more, I just don't really know anything aside from what he looked like." The girl said.

"I would tell you where he was if I knew; believe me I want nothing more than to stop that bastard from doing this to anyone else." Sherlock nodded and the girl looked out of the window with pained eyes. Sherlock had to commend her for being as strong as she was in light of the situation but he did wish she had more helpful information. Just then Lestrade walked in with Donovan at his side, Sherlock threw her a glare and nodded to Lestrade.

"Well hello freak, hope you haven't traumatized the girl anymore." Donovan whispered snidely to Sherlock's back and Lestrade shot her an exhausted look. They both walked around to the side of the girl's hospital bed but Donovan stopped short and cracked a grin.

"Well then, did the freak get some action last night?" Sherlock couldn't see himself but he knew he had just turned a violent shade of red to match the unfortunately visible bite mark on his neck. Sherlock had made the mistake of removing his scarf earlier and now the mark was exposed.

"I must admit that looks pretty nasty, you should ask her to lighten up." Donovan said with a laugh then, in a mocking voice, she added

"Or him." Sherlock couldn't help the rush of blood that came to his face and furthered his blush. Donovan grinned triumphantly and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Lestrade.

"Get out Donovan, some of us are actually trying to work here." He glared at her and she exited the room. The girl on the hospital bed smiled gratefully at Lestrade and he walked over to Sherlock. He leaned down and whispered to Sherlock.

"Is everything alright?" He asked with genuine concern in his voice. Sherlock gave him a tight-lipped nod and Lestrade returned the gesture.

"I'll leave you to work then." He said and walked out of the room. Sherlock turned back to the girl on the bed and smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Sherlock knew there was only one last question he could ask her and it was the question he had been dreading all day. He pulled out his phone and went into his photos where he kept some photos of John (for use as a contact image only, Sherlock certainly did not scroll through them absent-mindedly when he was trying to comprehend the strange emotions he felt in relation to John). He didn't want to do this but he held up a photograph that best showed John's features to the girl and asked

"Do you recognize this man?" All the color drained from the girl's face and her eyes went wide. Sherlock could see as her entire body went tense and her breath sped up and he knew that she did in fact recognize him.

"That's him, that's the man who did this to me." She said in a voice thick with fear and Sherlock quickly pocketed his phone. The girl took a few deep breaths to calm herself and Sherlock thanked her for her assistance. As he was walking out the door the girl called after him.

"How do you have a picture of him?" She asked and Sherlock tried to think of a decent answer. He couldn't, he couldn't tell this girl that the man that had nearly killed her and had put her through immense pain was actually his flat mate, or even maybe more than that. So Sherlock just walked out the door without answering her question and went home.

* * *

When he got home John was waiting for him, quite literally. When Sherlock walked through the door John was standing there with his hands behind his back in expectation of Sherlock.

"Where have you been?" John asked with a tight smile and Sherlock swallowed hard. John had killed eight people and now Sherlock was standing in front of him completely unarmed and alone.

"Working the case." Sherlock replied and he went about hanging up his coat.

"Found out who did it yet?" John asked and Sherlock shrugged.

"Don't lie to me Sherlock, I know you know." Sherlock's heart constricted and he turned to face John only to find that John was directly behind him. Sherlock jumped and John smiled cruelly.

"I killed them." John said with a huge grin on his face that made Sherlock sick to his stomach. John began to advance on Sherlock and Sherlock backed away from him in fear. John chuckled at that and feigned a lunge with a "boo", Sherlock leaped away from John though and began to move towards the mantle where a knife was sticking out of the wood.

"You know I killed those people Sherlock, why are you defending me?" John asked as he continued to advance on Sherlock.

"Because you're not you. I don't know how it's possible but you're not John, you can't be." John stopped then and actually looked mildly surprised and even a little… pleased. Then John began to clap.

"Congratulations Sherlock! I'm proud of you; I certainly didn't expect you to figure that much out." John said which only helped to deepen Sherlock's confusion, but Sherlock couldn't allow himself to be distracted from the knife he needed to defend himself. He tore his eyes from John for a moment to spin around and grab the knife. As soon as Sherlock's hand came in contact with the handle of the knife he was flung against the wall by an impossibly strong, invisible force. He slammed into the wall and was immediately pinned there by some powerful thing he couldn't see. In all truth Sherlock could barely comprehend what was happening until he looked up into John's eyes and was met by two pitch black spheres.

"John?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"I'm afraid not Sherly my dear." The dark eyed thing that wore John's skin said and Sherlock stared at it wide-eyed.

"Impossible." Sherlock stated as he looked once more into the oily black eyes of the thing.

"Oh, Sherlock you know that it isn't. I'm a demon, pure and simple, although probably not so pure." The demon said with a chuckle; Sherlock shook his head in disbelief and the demon sighed.

"Come on Sherlock, you yourself have said that once you eliminate the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Sherlock shook his head again and said

"If you're not John then how can you know that?"

"Because I'm possessing John, everything he knows, I know." The demon said and Sherlock felt rage bubble up inside him.

"You get out of him-" Sherlock started but was cut off by the demon.

"Save it, it's not happening." Sherlock seethed with anger as he was held by the demon against the wall. The demon walked over to the mantle and plucked the knife from the wood. It examined the knife with a small smile on its lips.

"I will tell you what is going to happen though." The demon waltzed over to Sherlock and stood so their faces were mere inches apart.

"John here is going to be found out for the nine murders he committed and he's going to go to jail for the rest of his life." The demon stated.

"There have only been eight murders." Sherlock said and the demon's smile grew.

"You're forgetting to count the unfortunate murder of John's flat mate." Sherlock's blood ran cold and his eyes grew wide.

"It's a shame though, you really are something. I've never met anyone quite like you." The demon whispered to Sherlock as it fingered the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock wanted to chop the demon into tiny little pieces for ever coming near John.

"John cares about you too. It wasn't just my desires that I was fulfilling last night, they were his as well." The demon leaned in close to Sherlock and planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek which caused Sherlock to grimace with disgust and hatred.

"In fact, I would even go so far as to say he loves you." Sherlock's heart sank in his chest.

"Has for a long time, unfortunately you are Mr. Married to your work. John fell in love with an emotionless machine." The demon sneered and Sherlock bit his lip. He wished more than anything that he could rewind time and undo all this but he couldn't. John had been stolen from Sherlock by this thing because Sherlock didn't realize in time that John belonged to him.

"Now when John finally has a chance to be with you he isn't even in control of his own body. He can't treat you the way he believes you deserve to be treated, and now he's going to murder you and spend the rest of his life in prison for it." Sherlock gritted his teeth and glared at the demon.

"No he won't, I won't let him." Sherlock stated and the demon smiled that horrible smile.

"I'm afraid it's too late now." The demon said and it brought the knife up above its head. Sherlock struggled against the demon's powers but he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried. So Sherlock shut his eyes so as not to see John in this way, as a monster that had hurt other people and John as well. Sherlock didn't know if John could hear him or not but he knew that when the demon brought that knife down he wouldn't get another chance. So Sherlock uttered the words that he should've told John sooner, before it was too late.

"I love you John."

**Author's note: Heehee! Cliffhanger! Guess you'll just have to keep reading ;). (And maybe review…)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Lots of love to those who have chosen to keep reading, thank you. You're drawing close to the end, so hang on a bit longer! (And review)**

Sherlock waited for the knife, but it never came. After a couple of intense moments Sherlock dared to open his eyes a crack and saw the demon standing there, the knife still poised above its head. Then a word slipped from John's mouth.

"No." It was barely a whisper, but Sherlock recognized the voice. It sounded distant, as though it was coming from deep inside John, but it was John.

"John?" Sherlock asked hopefully and tried to break free of the demon's powers. John squeezed his eyes shut and backed away from Sherlock shaking his head.

"No." He repeated and Sherlock was suddenly released from the demon's grasp. He tried to move towards John but John continued to back away.

"John? Is that you?" Sherlock asked, hoping desperately that it was. John shook his head again and dropped the knife onto the carpet. He looked up at Sherlock and Sherlock's heart rose, because John's eyes were back to their natural hazel color. Sherlock was about to run and pull John into a hug he was so relieved but he didn't get the chance because at that precise moment John shouted at the top of his lungs

"NO!" And he flung himself out of the window. The glass shattered as John's body came into contact with it and Sherlock heard a painful thwack as John collided with the pavement. Sherlock ran to the shattered window and looked down to see John peel himself off the ground and run away into the night. Sherlock turned around to run out of the flat after John but crashed into Lestrade halfway down the steps. They tumbled over each other until they landed in a heap at the bottom of the steps. Sherlock untangled himself from Lestrade and tried to dash out the door but was stopped by a pair of hands on his ankle.

"Sherlock, wait." Lestrade said as he picked himself off of the floor. Sherlock didn't wait and once again tried to run after John. He was stopped in the doorway by Lestrade's strong arms which wrapped around him and held him back.

"Let me go! I need to get to John." Sherlock said as he struggled against Lestrade.

"Sherlock, he's the killer!" Lestrade shouted as he tried to hold Sherlock back.

"No he isn't, he's possessed!" Sherlock finally spun out of Lestrade's arms and ran out of the door to look for John. Much to his frustration John was nowhere in sight, Lestrade had prevented him from getting after John in time. Sherlock cursed under his breath and marched back inside. He walked straight past Lestrade who was looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock ignored him and stormed up the stairs into his flat. He grabbed John's laptop, guessed the password, and immediately began to look a way to free John of the demon.

"You knew, didn't you? You knew that John was the killer." Lestrade said from the entrance to the flat.

"How did you know?" Sherlock countered with his own question.

"We sent a sketch artist down to the hospital after you left. The girl described the killer and I recognized him as John the moment she was finished." Lestrade said.

"So you're the only one who knows?" Sherlock asked, trying to hide his worry.

"Yes, me and you are the only ones. Unless you told someone that John was the killer." Lestrade said pointedly.

Sherlock didn't slow his rapid typing when he answered.

"John isn't the killer. The thing that's possessing him is." Sherlock stated simply and Lestrade exploded.

"You did know! You've known since the beginning! How could you not say anything? How could you let him just get away? You saw what he did, he's a monster!" Sherlock stood so quickly he knocked his chair over and he walked up to Lestrade with an expression of barely contained rage.

"_John _did not hurt anyone. _John_ did not commit those murders. And _John _is not a monster. The thing that is possessing him is though." Sherlock said through clenched teeth. Lestrade stared back at Sherlock with a severely pissed off expression.

"And you expect me to believe that?" He asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said and he met Lestrade's eyes with his own so he could see just how serious he was. Lestrade shook his head in disbelief and Sherlock grabbed the side of his arm to get his attention.

"Have I not proved my trustworthiness to you? Have I not solved dozens of crimes where there was seemingly no evidence? Have I not assisted you with cases that had all of Scotland Yard baffled? I have helped you more times than I can count for nothing in exchange, now I'm asking you for your help. Just this once, trust me." Sherlock looked into Lestrade's eyes and Lestrade looked right back. After a moment of visible indecision Lestrade nodded and asked

"What do you need?" Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and turned John's laptop so Lestrade could see. Lestrade glanced skeptically at the website for "The Ghostfacers" and gave Sherlock an expression that read 'seriously?' Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly and went off to the kitchen to get salt.

* * *

After a couple calls to Mycroft and a crash course in demonic exorcism Sherlock and Lestrade were in a cab headed to (demon) John's location. Lestrade was sweating quite a bit and so was Sherlock, yet they were both doing their best to conceal their worry. Sherlock was looking out of the window when the cab came to a stop. He practically leapt out of the cab and paid the driver as quickly as possible before jogging towards the building where John was hiding out.

"You know I still am having trouble believing that John is possessed and possessed or not, I will shoot him if he tries to hurt you." Lestrade said and Sherlock nodded grimly. Lestrade clapped Sherlock on the shoulder in familiarity and walked off to set up the second part of Sherlock's plan. Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door to the building were John was hiding.

It was dark inside and Sherlock could barely make out the dark shapes of covered machinery. Then one of them moved and Sherlock whipped around to face it. The lights came on and Sherlock was momentarily blinded but when his vision cleared he saw John standing before him with his hands held behind his back.

"Sherlock." He said with a polite nod and Sherlock stared back at him coldly. The demon pouted and his eyes turned into that pitch black that Sherlock hated.

"What, you're not even going to say hello?" It asked and Sherlock continued his silence.

"Alright, you can give me the silent treatment if you like but it's not going to help John." The demon said and Sherlock inhaled sharply at the mention of John. The demon made a sudden movement towards Sherlock and he pulled the gun he had been keeping inside his coat. The demon raised its hands in a gesture of surrender but it smiled at the same time.

"Careful there Sherlock, don't want to hurt John." It said and Sherlock tightened his grip on the gun.

"I'm not going to hurt John, just you." He said angrily and the demon laughed loudly.

"Oh, silly boy. You can't hurt me, anything you do to this body will only hurt John and it won't have the slightest effect on me." Sherlock's jaw tightened in rage but he didn't lower the gun. Then the demon put its hands down impatiently and flashed Sherlock a disappointed look.

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked as he moved slowly closer to the demon. The demon laughed and spread its arms as though the answer was obvious.

"For fun!" It said and Sherlock grimaced. The demon then folded its arms across its chest and feigned a yawn.

"As much as I'm enjoying our fun little chat I would really like to move things along, so if you wouldn't mind taking a course of action…" The demon said in a bored tone. Sherlock stayed firmly where he was and the demon rolled its eyes (Sherlock didn't know how, but it managed it).

"Fine then, I'll do it." Sherlock frowned for a moment in confusion but it was short lived. The demon pulled a knife from its belt and before Sherlock could do anything the demon raised the knife above its head and drove it deep into John's abdomen.

"NO!" Sherlock screamed as blood began to seep from the wound the demon had just inflicted on John. The demon looked up into Sherlock's horrified face and grinned with blood stained teeth.

"This is your fault you know." The demon said as blood dripped from its mouth.

"You and John's argument, it made him wide open for demonic possession. All those emotions tumbling about in his head, you might as well have painted a big sign on his back." The demon said with a pained laugh. Sherlock's heart stopped with fear, anger, and guilt.

"If it weren't for you John would've lived a full and happy life. But now, because of you, he's going to die." Sherlock saw red and screamed. He launched himself at the demon and at the same time he pulled the small vial of holy water he had from his jacket. He tackled the demon to the ground and poured the contents of the container onto it. The demon screamed and flung Sherlock across the room without even touching him. Sherlock slid across the floor and quickly stood up to see the demon standing as well.

"I'll make you pay for that." The demon said with an enraged expression. It ran at Sherlock and Sherlock sprinted as fast as he could out of the building into an alleyway. He didn't get very far as the demon sent him flying into a wall with a flick of its wrist. Sherlock's head hit the wall hard and when he opened his eyes the world was spinning around him. He tried to stand but he was too weak so all he could do was lay there helplessly as the demon approached.

"This is why I hate your kind; you're all nothing but primitive, violent scum who want nothing more than to tear out each other's throats." The demon said as it limped over to where Sherlock was laying.

"I'm glad I chose to possess this human, because otherwise I wouldn't have had the opportunity to kill the piece of human garbage that is you." The demon raised its arm but froze suddenly with a look of genuine surprise that quickly became rage as it looked up at the devil's trap that Lestrade had spray painted onto the fire escape. It cried out in rage and turned to where Lestrade was standing behind it. Lestrade's eyes went wide as he saw the completely black eyes of the demon. The demon was angry though so Lestrade's disbelieving expression quickly contorted into an expression of pain as the demon used its powers to do invisible harm to the detective inspector. Just then Sherlock regained his strength and he jumped to his feet. He dashed over to the demon while pulling a container of salt out of his pocket. The momentarily distracted demon was unable to defend itself as Sherlock grabbed it by the head and poured salt into its open mouth. The demon screamed and a stream of black smoke came rocketing out of John's mouth. The demon tried to flee but it was caught in the devil's trap where it struggled for a moment before combusting in a flash of orange, fiery light. Sherlock and Lestrade recovered at the same time and both of them ran to John's side.

"John? John!? Can you hear me?" Sherlock said as he frantically tried to find John's pulse.

"C'mon mate." Lestrade said with knitted brows and Sherlock took John into his arms. John's eyes fluttered and then opened to reveal the warm hazel irises that Sherlock thought he might never see again.

"Sherlock?" John asked in a weak voice and Sherlock nearly fainted in relief.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice." Sherlock stated with a relieved laugh which Lestrade reciprocated. John smiled a smile that made Sherlock beyond happy to see, because it was John's smile again, not that thing's. Lestrade stood and began to call an ambulance. John's face wrenched in pain and Sherlock took his hand to help alleviate John's suffering.

"Sherlock, there's something you need to know." John said and he began to cough violently, little specks of blood appearing on his lips as he did so.

"Try not to strain yourself John, the ambulance is almost here." Sherlock said as John continued coughing.

"Sherlock-" John started but Sherlock opened his mouth to stop him speaking only to be cut off by John's finger to his lips.

"Sherlock, I love you too." And with that John slipped into unconsciousness just as the ambulance pulled up to take him away.

* * *

Sherlock hadn't left the hospital since John had been admitted there a few days ago. He had sat by John's side all day and all night, refusing to leave. Thankfully Lestrade had talked to the nurses so Sherlock could be exempt from the usual rules about visiting hours. So Sherlock was asleep with his head resting on John's hospital bed when John awoke. He let out a soft chuckle at seeing Sherlock asleep like that but the small shake of the bed caused Sherlock to wake with a start.

"Morning sleepyhead." John said fondly although it was till nighttime. Sherlock looked up into John's hazel eyes and didn't even hesitate to capture John's lips in a kiss. When it broke John looked into Sherlock's silvery eyes and asked

"What was that for?" Sherlock smiled tiredly and answered him

"For being you." He stated simply and John kissed him again gently. John laid back on his pillows and smiled at Sherlock the warm smile that was only John's.

"Don't change." Sherlock told John whose smile grew wider on his face.

"I won't if you won't." He said and Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's.

"Never." He told John, and they sat there in the darkness thanking their lucky stars that they had each other just the way they were.

**Author's note: And that's a wrap! Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review if you did or if you didn't let me know what I can do better. Thanks again for reading! So, until next time, I bid you adieu.**


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